Undercover Stakes
by Elvinborn
Summary: TV verse with a little book mixed in. Harry and Murphy must go undercover and campout in order to catch the mysterious Tent Stake Widow before another new bride is murdered. harryMurphy


* * *

"I hate camping," I muttered, trying to convince the haphazard pile of fabric and fiberglass to miraculously turn itself into a tent.

"You know, Dresden," Murphy chirped, "camping was your idea." Lt Connie Murphy, Chicago PD, had somehow gotten her screen tent set up in mere seconds, and was now happily arranging our supplies into a working kitchen. Apparently, Murphy had gone camping a lot as a child. She must have enjoyed it because, since the beginning of this whole sure-to-be debacle, she had been smiling and laughing, and (dare I say it?) singing. Campfire songs: another strange and terrifying facet of camping that Ebenezer never prepared me for.

"It wasn't an idea, Murph," I grumbled, dropping the fiberglass sticks on the ground in a heap. "It was the only way to catch this guy in the act..."

"... and we have to see what he's doing in order to stop him," she cut in, "I got it the first twelve times, Harry. And I'm flattered you chose me to be your bait." She paused. "But I'm still not sure why you thought we'd only need the one single tent for the two of us?" At this, she raised an eyebrow at me and grinned. I think she may have been flirting with me.

"Well, Connie," I began, the name felt weird when I said it, but I inwardly rejoiced when Murphy flinched. "If we're going to be the newly married couple we're supposed to be, we should probably not have separate tents." And it had been the only tent I could afford in addition to all of our provisions and the supplies necessary for decking out my jeep in cans and streamers and a large obnoxious "Just Married!" painted across the back bumper. Not that I was going to mind being nestled into a comfy tent with Murphy for a weekend.

This weekend adventure was our last and best (so far) plan for capturing the Tent Stake Widow (exclamation point). There had been three very impressive murder scenes over the last three weeks. All of the victims had been women. All had been newly married and gone on a camping trip for their honeymoon (who does that?). All of them were found in the late afternoon of the second day by their husbands. And each of them was held to a tree by three tent stakes in a straight line: one through both wrists above the head, one through both legs, just above the ankles, and one just below the breast. Best of all, the areas around the bodies tingled so strongly with residual magic that even the rangers and cops could feel it, and not one of the scenes included even a single drop of the victim's blood. Talk about a memorable honeymoon.

After two weeks of exhaustive research, in which Bob offered no help aside from "if I could only see it!" (with disturbing enthusiasm), and five consecutive afternoons when I woke up with my head smashed into my desk and Murphy standing over me with a fresh coke and a worried frown, I came to the conclusion that the only way to figure out what our killer was trying to accomplish was to catch him in the act. Enter "The Plan".

* * *

**Friday**

I summed up for us, rubbing my hands over my face in frustration. "This guy appears in broad daylight, takes the victim from their campsite without the husband noticing, sacrifices the girl for reasons we don't know without anybody hearing anything, and the only evidence we have left of anything is an exsanguinated body staked to a tree."

"Yep," Murphy replied. "That's pretty much it." Her response was halfhearted at best. It was a Friday afternoon, and we had until Sunday morning to find our killer before another victim was added to the list. "You don't have anything that we could work with?"

"Yes, Murph," I responded. "In fact, I caught the Tent Stake Widow Monday, and I've just been holding out on you. He's in my basement if you'd like to take a look." The sarcasm was probably uncalled for, but it did make Murphy sit up and look interested, if only because she was interested in hitting me. Sadly, she began to look defeated again almost instantly. I stood up and started pacing. "So what we do know..." I began, trying to think quickly, "what we do know is that we've had three murders in three weeks in three campgrounds in the area."

Murphy nodded.

"We know that each of the victims was a female newlywed camping with her husband." Another nod. "So the best way to catch this killer would be to ibe/I a newlywed woman on a camping trip."

"I don't know about the word 'best', Harry."

"She'd need to be able to fend for herself and provide eye witness evidence in court once the guy is apprehended," I continued, not to be deterred from what felt like a truly brilliant line of thought. "And what would really give her an edge would be if her husband happened to be a fully equipped wizard who could intervene before the little wife got staked to a tree." I stopped and looked at Murphy.

Murphy looked at me. I imagine there would have been a tense stare-off at this moment if our eyes had met, but I couldn't risk it. I broke the contact as I started to feel that familiar pull. This would never work if she saw whatever lurked in a soulgaze with me.

I took a deep breath. "Murphy, I think we should elope."

* * *

**Present**

It turns out that camping is about the art of sitting around. Once Murphy finished setting up our tent, there was nothing to do. So we sat next to the empty campfire circle in our two fold-up chairs and looked everywhere but at each other. I toyed with the ring on my finger, twisting and sliding it up to my knuckle and then back down until the joint started to hurt. Murphy leaned back in her chair and stared at the sky like there was something really interesting up there.

After about half an hour of this, Murphy finally took a deep breath and sat up. "This is never going to work, Harry."

I jumped at the sound of her voice, and brandished my beringed hand at her. "Bit late for that, Murph,"

"Not what I meant. Well... Sort of what I meant." Murphy took a deep breath. "Dresden, we're supposed to be so happily stupidly head-over-heels in love with each other that we eloped and ran away to the forest together. I don't think that sitting on opposite ends of the camp site and ignoring each other is going to create the impression we're going for."

"Okay," I said. I picked up my chair, took it over, and sat it and myself down in front of Murphy so that our knees were touching. "Fair point." I let my hands rest on her legs and leaned forward, and, just for effect, I allowed my eyes to be drawn to her lips. "What else did you have in mind, Connie?"

Murphy looked down at my hands then up at me. She smiled a slow devious smile that did things to my stomach and made me swallow. Leaning in to me so that our lips were a breath apart, she whispered, "It's on now, Dresden." And then she stood and walked away.

The battle that followed was one for the books. We set out to gather firewood, and Murphy made a point of letting our hands brush every time we got close. I retaliated by sneaking up behind her and putting my arms around her. "Laugh like you mean it," I whispered in her ear and kissed her neck, and I tied to hold myself together as she leaned her head back on my shoulder and giggled. Killer or no, I realized that I was never going to make it out of this weekend alive.

After that, being on a honeymoon with Murphy was pretty easy. We joked and talked while we made dinner over the campfire (something called a "hobo burger"), and we did not sing songs. I made sure to sit too close to Murphy and look at her too often, just in case we had caught the eye of the murderer and being watched. (Certainly not because of the way the firelight was making her skin glow). And if, after we cleaned up dinner and banked the fire, I picked Murphy up and carried her laughing into the little tent, it was purely for effect. I've always wanted to carry a woman over a threshold.

I reached out with a little force of will, and checked on the wards I had set up around our camp. Simple, and hard to detect, they wouldn't do much good in the unlikely event that there was an intruder, but they would at least let me know someone was there. Another effort of will extinguished the little lantern that Murphy had set up at the door of the tent, and I laid down beside my temporary wife. "Goodnight, Mrs. Dresden," I said, hoping to get a snicker from her.

There was no snicker. "Do you think this is going to work, Harry?" she whispered.

"I sure hope so, Murph," I said, hoping there was more confidence in my voice than I felt. "If not, we'll never hear the end of it from Kirmani."

That did get me a small chuckle. "Kirmani will never let us hear the end of this no matter what happens, Dresden. And if your hand or any other part of you steps out of line in the night, you will lose it, mister. Be warned."

There was the Murphy I know and love. "Not even a pinky?"

"Harry."

"Gotcha, Murph. Perfect gentleman."

* * *

I woke up before the sun with a face full of curly black hair. Something had moved past one of my wards, but the disturbance was small enough that I was pretty sure it was just a raccoon or some other wild animal. A perfect gentleman would probably have woken Murphy up, or at least moved away, but I've never been perfect. It felt nice to have her wrapped around me, her face against my chest, her arm flung over my stomach, and a leg thrown over mine. I stayed where I was and thanked whatever higher powers might be out there that we had shared blankets for our bed rather than individual sleeping bags.

When I woke up the second time, Murphy was up and out moving around the campsite, and the air was filled with the heavenly smell of bacon. I went out to join her, kissing her on the cheek for show and murmuring, "Good morning." I swear she leaned in towards me when I kissed her. She definitely pinched my butt.

"Good morning," she cheerfully replied. "I thought we might go for a hike this afternoon. What do you think?"

Sticking to the plan, then. Okay. "Sounds good. I'll put together our packs."

Assembling packs for an day hike isn't all that complicated. A couple of sandwiches, water for each of us, a few snacks, maybe a pocket knife, and you're all set. Assembling packs for a day hike in which you are planning on being abducted by a murdering psychopath involves a little more inventiveness. Murphy was already wearing our first and best line of defense in the form of her wedding ring. I had worked the largest spell into it that I could manage to keep undetectable, and the ring functioned as a tracking beacon. I just hoped our killer wouldn't think to look too closely. I put normal rations in each of our packs, then supplemented mine and with a polished and rune-covered human skull and a small selection of tools and herbs that might be useful for quick spells. Both of our canteens were already filled and waiting, but I added a mixture of ... let's just say herbs to Murphy's and took our gear outside.

"Make sure you drink all of this," I said, handing her the canteen, "but not all at once."

Murphy took a drink and choked. "Dresden!" she spluttered, "What the hell is in this?"

"Shhh, Murphy. At least pretend to be enjoying my cooking," I replied with a smirk. She gave me a death glare in return. "You really don't want to know. But," I said, cutting off the coming tirade, "it will counteract sleeping potions so that you aren't out for long." I met her eyes, just for a second. "So you can fight back in case I don't get there in time."

Murphy nodded. "Okay, then," she said, and took another drink.

We set off hand-in-hand on a ten mile loop that would take us well away from any source of outside help and into a thick forest filled with just the sort of tree that the killer liked for staking exercises. For the record, hockey sticks do not make good walking sticks. Also of note, walking towards a face-off with an unidentified murderer can really put a damper on conversation. Murphy covered this discomfort by singing disgusting camp songs until we forgot not to laugh.

When we stopped for lunch in a likely glade, it was because I had finally felt the light brush of magic being worked nearby. A veil, probably, and not one that I could locate without giving the game away and scaring away our stalker. I gave Murphy a meaningful look, and shook my canteen, "Did you need more water?" I asked, hoping she would get the idea, "mine is nearly empty, and I think I heard a stream over there."

Murphy nodded to me and drained the rest of her water. "Yes, love," she said handing her emptied canteen to me, "that would be wonderful."

I took the canteen, holding onto her hand longer than necessary, and kissed her gently on the lips. "I'll be right back." I took a deep breath and headed towards the river.

* * *

You know how sometimes a plan goes just how you thought it would, and everything slots into place without a hitch? Me neither.

It started out just as planned. I left Bob behind a tree as a lookout about twenty yards away from where I left Murphy, and then I went down to the river to refill the canteens. When you're trying to lull a criminal into a false sense of security, and that criminal can track your movements with his mind, you should go where you say you're going.

When I got back, I found that Murphy had, indeed, been taken. Just as planned! But so had Bob. Strike one! There was no sign of struggle, and Murphy's pack sat propped up on a tree with her uneaten lunch beside it. Pretty much as planned. The little knife that had been hidden in her boot also sat beside it along with the small gun that she carried hidden away under her clothing. Strike two!

I reached out with my will to find the tracking signature of Murphy's ring. I found it and followed the signal for several minutes before finding the ring itself where it had fallen to the forest floor from Murphy's limp hand. Strike three! I hoped to god I wasn't out.

A good wizard is, however, always prepared for disaster. This is especially true if the wizard is me and disaster seems to follow him around. I dug into my pack and pulled out the crystal, tied a string around it, and wrapped it with the curl of Murphy's hair that I had made her donate before we drove out to set up camp. With a small effort of will, I turned the crystal into a new tracking device and waited for it to tell me where to go. The crystal spun for a moment before pointing steadily off the trail and into the woods.

I followed.

* * *

I was not there in the nick of time. For once, I was early. The tracking crystal led me to a scene out of a badly researched witch movie. Murphy was lying in a crumpled heap at the base of a large and ancient oak tree. Kneeling in front of her, there was a young woman, barely more than a girl. She had long, messy brown hair that hung off of her head like decaying ropes. Her face was dirty, and her clothing was torn, and she babbled to herself as she worked around Murphy and the tree.

"There's the daisies, they will do for spirit. And the rosemary, that will keep our memories," she said, moving dried flowers and sticks around into a large circle. "The rue and the violets go together," she chanted, "to stay our faithfulness and let me repent." She drew a pentacle across the circle with the crushed flowers. "Almost worked last time," she muttered to herself, "light of the firefly should do the trick..."

I stared at the scene. I couldn't help it. There was nothing in her combinations that should do anything, much less cause the gruesome deaths we had seen. Even so, I could feel the first cracklings of magic leaping around the woman's hands. I suppose that magic is more about belief than the tools you used. Of course, it was also about the tools you used. This woman seemed to have gotten most of her spell information from fiction, but she had discovered a few things that would actually work.

With her pentacle formed, she pulled out a very sharp knife with rubies covering the hilt. She laid it on the ground next to three plastic tent stakes and began to sing. I knew that knife. I had seen it in my weeks on this case while looking up exsanguination, but dismissed it as the source when both Bob and the book had declared it permanently destroyed. The woman continued to sing, moving her hands over the stakes and pulling magic out of the tree. I would have to stop later to be impressed. It's not often that you get to see somebody work earth magic with finesse. Instead, my eye was caught by Murphy, who was beginning to stir.

I hoped that Bob remembered Plan C.

Something moved at the edge of the trees, then again a few feet in front of the singing witch. Ah good, he did remember. Good ghost. Always nice to have one on your side. Bob's form flickered again so that he would be visible in the corner of the woman's eye. This time, she stopped singing, and her hands froze worryingly over the dark knife. "Who goes there?" she asked, her eyes unfocused as she searched for another presence with her magic. It was a now or never sort of moment.

I leapt out from my hiding spot, shouting "Forzare!" with all my might and directing my will through my hockey stick. The force of the blast should have sent her flying, but it somehow only managed to knock her off balance. She turned on me, and lifted her hand to point at me with one long, bony finger. Murphy, however, was on top of things, and the witch suddenly crashed to the ground as Murphy hit her in the back of the head with one of her own earth-strengthened tent stakes.

"Is that what you call a rescue, Dresden?" Murphy croaked, sinking back to the ground with a thump.

"Well, it looks to me like you're still alive, so I'm going with a yes," I replied. I walked over to the still form of the witch, and poked her with the end of my staff. You can never be too careful with this sort of thing. "Can you move away from her, Murph?"

Murphy looked at me doubtfully, and I think she tried to move. "No can do, Harry," she said, her voice tinged with worry.

"It's okay, it will just take a little longer for the Up And At 'Em potion to finish working" I lied. Murphy glared at me with unfocused eyes that I felt sure were part of a concussion. "What?" I said, "I'd like to see you come up with a better name for a potion." I picked her up and carried her over to another tree. One without a weird scary pentacle surrounding it. And it worried me just a little that Murphy didn't protest to this treatment. "Stay here," I told her, propping her against a tree.

"Not like I can go anywhere, is it?" Feisty. Excellent sign.

There was still business to be taken care of, so I pulled out my chalk and walked back over to the fallen witch. She was starting to wake up, and I had the feeling she was not going to be a very willing prisoner. I drew a circle around her and closed it with a little force of will, creating an effective holding cell for her. Then I sent up a sort of magic flare with another bit of will drawn through my staff. This was going to be a job for the Council to deal with.

I was preparing to stand sentry when the witch started to weep and babble in her prison. "So close, so close," she mumbled. "Nearly happy again, and he steps in and ruins it all," she wailed, reaching up and pounding at the invisible walls. "So close! This one was so happy. So in love. It would have finally been enough."

Hunching down so that I could see her, I looked her in the eyes for a split second. Just long enough to catch her attention. "But she wasn't in love," I told her. I don't know why, but I needed to try to console this broken thing. "Besides, her death certainly couldn't have helped you," I said, careful not to get close enough to affect the boundaries of the circle. "What could you possibly have hoped to take from that ludicrous spell you were trying?" I asked, genuinely curious.

The witch slumped again and curled into herself, her eyes closing. "Happiness," she whispered. "I just wanted to be happy again." Then she returned to her sobbing. "So close," she babbled, "so very close. Maybe a little more thyme..."

More than a little creeped out, I went back over to Murphy. Her eyes opened when I touched her cheek, and she leaned groggily into my hand. "Hi," I said.

"Hey, Harry," she slurred. "Why was there a silver-haired man walking in the woods?"

"That's Bob," I answered. When your partner is concussed, I always find it best just to tell the truth. You can always deny things again later, and it's not like they'll ever be able to remember for sure. "He was my teacher, and he lives in a skull."

"Oh. That's nice." She looked confused for a second, then tried to focus on me again. "Did we win?"

"Yeah Murph," I said, looking over at the destroyed woman babbling and weeping in her circle. "We won."

* * *

**Epilogue**

Very few things in my world get tied up neatly, and this case was no exception. Emily Lynch had been listed as a missing person by her family five weeks ago following a freak accident. Her husband of one day had tripped over a root while hiking and broken his neck. He was dead before she saw him hit the ground. A witch strong with Earth magics, she had gotten just far enough in lessons before running off with Evan Lynch that she could control her power but she had no work in spell crafting. I don't know who this Evan guy was, but Morgan said that she got the knife from him as a gift, and was using it as part of her spell as a connection to him.

Emily was tried and executed by the Council the day after our encounter in the forest. I try to feel good about that. Some days, I succeed.

The police report says that Murphy was abducted and injured in the line of duty. It also states that the Tent Stake Widow got away with injuries and may still be at large. Another unsolved case for the Chicago PD. Nobody there can explain why the string of murders stopped after the failed attempt with Murphy.

Murphy spent a couple of days in the hospital where I couldn't visit her for fear of shorting out some poor guy's life support equipment. I made up for it by taking her home and making sure she had a constant supply of pain killers and water. And if I crashed on her couch for a few of those days, it was because it was convenient, and not because I needed to be near her. I don't need anyone.

She asked about Bob once, about a week after the incident while I was making our dinner in her kitchen. I took the opportunity to (accidentally) set the pierogies on fire. The following scene in which Murphy leapt into the kitchen with a fire extinguisher and a blanket trying to smother the flames on both me and the stove served as a perfect distraction. I know I will have to explain it all one day, but I'm waiting for a time when she will at least let me put out a little stove fire with my magic.

Until then, with a friend and partner like Murphy to keep me busy, I think I might be dangerously close to something like happiness.


End file.
